"Take ye that Flitch," the Prior cried, "Take it, fond pair, and go; Fidelity, like yours, deserves The boon I now bestow. Go, feast your friends, and think upon The Convent of Dunmow." "Good Prior," then the youth replied, "Thy gift to us is dear, Not for its worth, but that it shows Thou deem'st our love sincere, And in return broad lands I give-- Broad lands thy Convent near; Which shall to thee and thine produce A Thousand Marks a year! "But this Condition I annex, Or else the Grant's forsaken; That whensoe'er a pair shall come, And take the Oath we've taken, They shall from thee and thine receive A goodly Flitch of Bacon. "And thus from out a simple chance A usage good shall grow; And our example of true love Be held up evermo: While all who win the prize shall bless The Custom of Dunmow." --------------------------------------------------------------------- [Illustration: STOTHARD'S PICTURE, "THE PROCESSION OF THE FLITCH OF BACON."] STOTHARD'S PICTURE, "THE PROCESSION OF THE FLITCH OF BACON."--It was published in 1833 and was dedicated to Samuel Rogers, the poet. --------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------- [Illustration: STOTHARD'S PICTURE ADAPTED, WITH QUEEN VICTORIA AND PRINCE ALBERT AS LEADING ACTORS.] STOTHARD'S PICTURE ADAPTED, WITH QUEEN VICTORIA AND PRINCE ALBERT AS LEADING ACTORS.--Among the figures are Lord Brougham, Lord Palmerston, the Duke of Wellington, Sir Robert Peel, Lord John Russell, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Dukes of Sussex and Cambridge. Date of print, 1841. --------------------------------------------------------------------- "Who art thou, son?" the Prior cried, His tones with wonder falter-- "Thou should'st not jest with reverend men, Nor with their feelings palter." "I jest not, Prior, for know in me Sir Reginald Fitzwalter. "I now throw off my humble garb, As I what I am, contest; The wealthiest I of wealthy men, Since with this treasure blest." And as he spoke, Fitzwalter clasp'd His lady to his breast. "In peasant guise my love I won, Nor knew she whom she wedded; In peasant cot our truth we tried, And no disunion dreaded. Twelve months' assurance proves our faith On firmest base is steadied." Joy reigned within those Convent walls When the glad news was known; Joy reigned within Fitzwalter's halls When there his bride was shown. No lady in the land such sweet Simplicity could own; A natural grace had she, that all Art's graces far outshone: Beauty and worth for want of birth Abundantly atone. L'ENVOY What need of more? That Loving Pair Lived long and truly so; Nor ever disunited were;-- For one death laid them low! And hence arose that Custom old-- The Custom of Dunmow.